I awoke just as the coffee maker wheezed its last grunt as it topped off the coffee pot with thick, dark coffee. Snook thankfully poured that first cup for me since my eyes were still blurry and sleep swollen, and I staggered on down to the studio and plopped down in my $49 “Executive” chair that I bought in 1982, and since then repaired many times. But I don’t want to replace it … it fits my bottom now.
Answered a couple of emails, checked on the Democrat hate fest as reported by FoxNews online, made a few snarky comments to leftists who hate Fox, but spend a great deal of waking time making comments about how much they hate it.
Then I was out of things to do while waking up.
For the first time in weeks, I put up a blank page in the word processer to see what would happen. Lately, I have been looking at the page and telling myself “I just can’t do this …”
And like magic, there she was, perched on the right corner of the monitor. She was wearing nuns clothing and idly switching a string of rosary beads back and forth in her lap. Unfortunately, that angle on the monitor also revealed puffy shins and hosiery rolled down just below the knees. I averted my eyes. It was a bit more than I was ready for this early in the morning.
“What’s with the nuns get up? I would be careful if I were you. Them things can become habit forming.” I asked, chuckling at my cleverness.
She looked at me levelly for several seconds before shaking her head and replying. “It is the only legitimate occupation for a spurned woman.”
“You weren’t spurned. I was just … ah … busy.” I replied defensively.
“Yes. With that video game.” She said and pointed her nose in the air.
“It’s not a ‘game’. It is a simulation of a real railroad.” I shot back testily.
“Maybe. But it is a waste of time and it is NOT writing nor paying any attention to me.” She replied shrilly. Maybe a bit too shrilly.
“It isn’t a waste of time! It takes a LOT of skill to bring a train down Tehachapi Pass! And you are just a figment.” I tried explaining to her.
“Figment? Are you sure? And real engineers make about $90 grand a year. How much does an aged geezer sitting at the pc in his underwear make? If you sold just one story you would make more than you do playing engineer.”
I carefully picked that dart out and replied. “They are boxer shorts, not underwear. And it isn’t playing. It is simming!”
“OK. A geezer in lime green boxer shorts, idly ‘simming’ at the computer. Better?” She said, smugly.
I fired back again. “Has anyone ever told you that you have one really nasty streak in you?”
“Why thank you, sweetheart! That is the nicest thing you have said to me this year!” She crooned.
I brushed that off and replied, “Seriously, though, I just have not been able to write anything and follow it through. After two or three paragraphs, I have completely lost all interest in it and can’t seem to generate any new thoughts. I used to love writing 500 word shorts with trick endings. But that love has vanished as well.”
Her face brightened and she asked, “What about spiritual pieces? You have always had peculiar slants on great spiritual themes.”
“I dunno. I am surrounded by spiritual prigs, and just don’t have the patience with them that I used to. If I must tell someone that it is merely a funny story and ask them to not take offense, the joy goes right out of it. It is sad that the more I am around believers, the less I want to be around them. But then, I feel the same way about pagans too, so maybe I am just turning into an old crank.”
“Just turning?” She smirked.
“Back off, woman!” I growled.
“Well, I must go back into the cloister. They will miss me soon and start asking embarrassing questions. I don’t know what to tell you. But I sure hope you find what it is that is blocking you soon. Ta ta!” she said, then turned and walked away.
“Me too, sister. Me too.” But I don’t think she heard me.